If I wrote my dreams into an episode I would get a note that they’re too on the nose, they live on my nose as I sleep. I dream, again, of bacon, always bacon. I’m being asked for the revised script and I reach into my bag and it’s full of packs of bacon I forgot that I got for Saturday breakfast, for the kids. I dig deeper for pages, but it’s just bacon. I dream we missed our flight home and I’m trying to pack the kids but Joe’s car underwear is everywhere, it’s coming out of the cracks between walls and floors, I’m trying to call the airline but it doesn’t exist. Jennifer Garner and I are in a Little Gym class together, we have to hold each other and roll around on the floor, we’re exploring our motor skills. I have to pee and there’s no such thing as a bathroom. Someone calls, where is the bacon? Was I supposed to bring it? Yes. I reach back into my purse. It’s now full of children’s underwear and scenes I need to rewrite. I wake up with the feeling that there’s something to do, but also that the thing doesn’t exist anymore, it’s been removed from the cloud. I preheat the oven, for bacon.